


i do love nothing in the world so well as you

by moprocrastinates



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Bellarke in Love, F/M, Journaling, Marriage Proposal, writer!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7195115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moprocrastinates/pseuds/moprocrastinates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke can’t help it. Every word he has written makes her shake; her fingers tremble as they deftly flip the pages and trace the ink where he’d pressed so hard— his feelings literally engraving themselves into immortality. She reads the following entries, her heart swelling more and more with every line. Bellamy has written every day for the past five years, detailing the highs and lows of their relationship. She cannot stop the laughter; she cannot stop the way her eyes fill with tears at his declarations of her beauty. </p><p>She cannot stop loving him. </p><p>|| or, the one where Bellamy proposes to Clarke with a journal. ||</p>
            </blockquote>





	i do love nothing in the world so well as you

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought I'd write this because it was a little fic!bubble that just wouldn't leave me alone. I hope you guys like it. 
> 
> (Also, this would be THE MOST ADORABLE WAY for someone to propose. Seriously.) 
> 
> Title is based off a quote from my absolute most favorite play, Much Ado About Nothing, by my favorite person, Sir Willy Shakespeare: "I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?" P.S. - If you haven't read it, Beatrice and Benedick are SO VERY MUCH Clarke and Bellamy.

Early morning sunlight streams in through the slots the blinds don’t quite cover, and Clarke Griffin groans quietly as she yanks the warm covers over her head. 

Then the birds begin to chirp, and look— Clarke’s all for birds, okay? (Even if they are a little terrifying at times.) She’d just prefer them if they didn’t feel the need to wake her up on a wonderful, sleepy Sunday before 10am.

Beneath the cover of her blankets, Clarke scrunches her eyes shut a little more. The song the birds sing seems to grow louder and louder with every passing moment, and with a desperation only other night owls could understand, she jerks her pillow out from under her head to cover her ears, leaving bare skin touched by the cold air of her bedroom. Instinctively, she reaches out behind her, hands grabby and a little needy, mindlessly searching for her personal furnace— also known as her boyfriend Bellamy. But her hands grasp thin air, and it’s then that Clarke opens her eyes. 

She sits up slowly, hair in a jumbled knot (it had been a messy bun originally, but Clarke’s always been a rough sleeper) on top of her head and her covers strewn and tangled up in her bare feet. “Bell?” 

There is no answer, at least, not a vocal one, but as she opens her mouth to call out again, a loud crash comes from just outside the room, followed immediately by a loud curse that causes Clarke to smile softly and bite her lip. 

Clarke Griffin knows Bellamy Blake perhaps better than anyone (with the possible exception of his sister Octavia) and, because of this, she also knows that today of all days, she shouldn’t interrupt him. Not when he’s got a plan. 

And for their anniversaries, he’s always got a plan. 

So she shuffles out of bed, padding quietly into their bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. As she daintily smears toothpaste on bristles, she catches sight of herself in the mirror. 

She doesn’t look young enough to be the type of woman who has spent five years being with the man she loves, but alas, here she is. 

Here she is, and so in love. 

Another loud crash brings her out of her reverie, and with her morning ritual done, Clarke steps out of their room, and nearly laughs at the sight of her beautiful, curly-haired nerd of a boyfriend standing nervously in front of the oven, looking at it like it might explode. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s not going to attack you,” She says, grinning shyly at him when he whips around to look at her. “You’re the one out of the two of us who doesn’t burn food in there, so hopefully it still likes you.” 

Bellamy rolls his eyes in a way that Clarke instinctively interprets as lovingly before he steps towards her, hands immediately finding purchase on her hips. He leans down, and she meets him halfway, lips touching in perhaps one of the gentlest morning kisses she’s ever had. (Most of the morning kisses she’s had in her lifetime have been with Bellamy, so it’s not really like she has anything else to compare to.) 

She wraps her arms around his neck, fully intending on making this kiss turn into something deeper when he recognizes her intent and laughs against her lips. “Happy anniversary, Clarke.” 

“Happy anniversary,” she says softly, and when she pulls back to look him in the eyes, she sees the same adoration in his that she knows is reflected in hers. “Five years, huh?”

Bellamy chuckles, turning back to the stove and turning the dials. “Yeah. Still quite can’t believe it.” 

Clarke snorts. “You’re telling me, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Relationships Blake.” 

He swats at her with an eggy spatula that she barely dodges. “Go back to bed,” He grumbles. “You’re ruining the whole concept of breakfast in bed!” 

“Breakfast in bed is wherever I claim the bed is,” She chirps back, reaching around his broad shoulders to snag a few chocolate chips from the bag. “I mean, technically, I could say your penis is the bed. What would you do then, huh?” 

Although he isn’t looking at her, she can tell just from the sudden tension in his shoulders that she’s made him think. “Go away, Clarke.”

“You loooooovvveee me,” Clarke sings when Bellamy turns to face her, brown eyes amused and rough hands holding out her beloved BB-8 coffee mug.

“Apparently.” 

Without missing a beat and breaking eye contact, she snags her mug from him and hops down to head back to the bedroom when he grabs her arm and pulls her back into his chest. 

“You forgot your tray, Princess.” Bellamy murmurs lowly in her ear, and Clarke really can’t help the shot of heat that courses through her veins at that very moment. 

If she had witnesses, she’d blame it on the coffee. 

But as always, Bellamy has other plans. 

He hands her a small tray with what appears to be blueberry muffins (her favorite), a small vase of peonies, and a leather book. 

“Don’t read it without me, okay?” Bellamy’s eyes are serious now, and Clarke’s dreams of a morning romp are moderately dashed by the severity of his gaze. “Please?”

“Fine.” She huffs, and he ruffles her hair and presses a kiss to her temple before she heads back to bed. 

After lying on the bed for approximately 96 seconds, Clarke calls out for Bellamy. “Anytime soon would be great, Bell.”

She gets a muffled response, but by then, her patience has already worn thin when her line of sight lands on the object left on the tray.

The journal is dark leather, marred by striking divots in the skin, but bound tightly together with a fraying string. Glancing around, Clarke reaches for it without waiting for Bellamy. Her curiosity, never quite satisfied, piques, and Clarke turns to the first page. 

_Property of Bellamy Blake_ , it reads, and Clarke snorts in amusement (what a NERD) before turning again. 

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1:_

_So you’ll probably call me an idiot (because that’s what you do), but I’ve never wanted to do this for any other person in my life. You’re special, and I’ve known that for years, but it wasn’t until tonight when we both stumbled through asking each other out that it made me realize that you’re unparalleled in every other relationship I’ve ever had in my entire life. Even with Octavia._

_You’re so special to me, Clarke, and I was so sure you would never, EVER, want to be with me._

_As of now, we’ve been going out for three hours, fifty minutes, and twenty-nine seconds. It’s been the best three hours, fifty minutes, and twenty-nine seconds of my life. I like this feeling, so I’m going to keep it going, okay?_

_Is that okay with you?_

\- - - - - - - - -

Clarke gapes. Holy shit. This cannot be what she thinks it is. 

She flips to the next page. 

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 2:_

_So we went out on our first official date tonight, and we went to that really quaint coffee shop on Polaris-- Grounders. It was a nice evening out, so we sat outside. You wore this stunning purple dress that made your eyes shine, and you laughed at all my dumb jokes and it was like we were best friends again, only this time I knew I could kiss you if I wanted to._

_The whole time, I really wanted to._

_But when it got colder out as the evening went on, I figured it was time for hot coffee, so I went in to order. The line was long, but you couldn’t see that, so when I left the shop, you were coming in. I was so focused on making sure I didn’t spill that I didn’t see you, and you were so concerned that I was fighting with a barista or something that you didn’t see me, and when we crashed, I was so sure it was over._

_I’m still not sure what I said— I thought it might’ve been my horror or my stream of apologetic consciousness that made you forgive me for staining your favorite dress— but instead, you just looked at me. Just looked at me, hard, and I swear once again that I thought it was over. I thought I’d ruined my chance with you._

_I know I have the potential within me to love you forever, starting from today (not that I didn’t before, but you know)—because you looked up at me from the ground, fucking beamed and me, and said, “Bell, the coffee’s cold.” Then you grabbed my hand and dragged me to Steak ‘n Shake, you in your beautiful albeit coffee-stained purple dress, and me with my pit-stained suit and frazzled hair._

_That burger was the best I’ve ever had, but I think it only tasted as good as it did because I had the best company around._

_Oh, and you stole my milkshake. You owe me one, Griffin._

\- - - - - - - - -

Clarke can’t help it. Every word he has written makes her shake; her fingers tremble as they deftly flip the pages and trace the ink where he’d pressed so hard— his feelings literally engraving themselves into immortality. She reads the following entries, her heart swelling more and more with every line. Bellamy has written every day for the past five years, detailing the highs and lows of their relationship. She cannot stop the laughter; she cannot stop the way her eyes fill with tears at his declarations of her beauty. 

Some of her favorite memories are his, and Clarke’s no stranger to Bellamy’s writing style— she was there when he began and finished his PhD thesis, was the one who read every single page and argued with him about the relationship between Hades and Persephone, and was the person in the front row when he presented to his colleagues. But to read of the memories she plays in her head every time they fight or every time they love on one another, her best ones, her favorite ones, she really cannot believe her previous claims about being so deeply in love with Bellamy Blake.  
She has never been more in love with him than in this moment with this beautiful, loving gift.

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 11:_

_We told our friends about us today. I wasn’t sure if you were ready, but as soon as we entered Grounders, you smacked a kiss to the corner of my lips and laced your fingers with mine, and Octavia whooped so loudly that I thought I’d go deaf._

_Then everybody passed Murphy money, and then they started taking bets on when I’d propose._

_Believe me, that’s not going to happen yet. I want to get to know you, Princess, and although I’ve known you since I was eleven, I want to know you as more than my best friend._

_But instead of scolding our friends (why the hell do I even call them that? They’re incorrigible), you just laughed and made a joke about that episode of Friends where Ross and Rachel get married in Vegas and distracted everyone. You kept tracing your thumb along the lines of my palm underneath the table, and you looked at me and I thought, “I love you.”_

_Hopefully I’ll be able to say it to you soon enough. I’ll practice it here: I love you._

_It feels pretty good._

\- - - - - - - - -

Not all the entries are professions of love. A few detail their fights, funny moments, touching moments, and she loves every word. Her blue eyes water, and she blinks, reaching up to wipe quickly across her eyes as to avoid getting water on the pages.

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 42:_

_WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME ABBY GRIFFIN IS SO MUCH SCARIER WHEN SHE’S MY GIRLFRIEND’S MOM?_

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 91:_

_Happy three-month anniversary. Please don’t eat all the chocolate-covered strawberries. Thanks._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 133:_

_You came over from work today with paint ALL over your clothing, your hair, and your face— the only thing you said to me was, “I love my job, Bell.”_

_I’m so happy you’re happy. I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 242:_

_You said it back. I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 398:_

_I’m going to tell you I have to go to Rome for four months for research. I don’t know how you’ll take it._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 468:_

_Being away from you every day is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I miss your smile and the way it reveals itself, slowly and shyly, before becoming suddenly the brightest thing in my line of vision. I miss your hair (it’s befitting of a princess) and how it smells like honey and those absolutely disgusting peanut butter and honey sandwiches you eat (seriously, HOW do you eat those?). I miss your eyes, and I swear I wake up in the middle of the night completely dazed by the color of ocean water. I miss your laugh, I miss how you call me Bell, I miss the way you look after sex and the way you murmur and kiss whispers of love on my skin when I push into you, I miss the way you koala-hug me when we’re cuddling, I miss your obscure questions about history that most people who aren’t “history nerds,” (your words) don’t care to know (“Hey, Bell, what the heck’s the Second Defenestration of Prague?”), I miss the sound of your voice when you sing I Won’t Say I’m in Love in the shower, I miss you totally drinking me under the table and you dragging Severus Snape with every single curse word you can think of and I miss you telling me in person you love me. I miss telling you in person that I love you._

_I guess I just miss you._

_Please don’t be mad at me. I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 500:_

_You’re the fucking best at phone sex._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 488:_

_I’m coming home to you, and I don’t really want to be apart from you again.  
I love you. _

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 619:_

_I don’t even know what we fought about at this point. It was probably dumb. I don’t know whose fault it is. All I know is that I’m sorry. I hope you decide to let me share the bed with you tonight._

_And I still love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 730:_

_I’m thinking about asking you to marry me. It’s our second anniversary… It seems fitting. You’re asleep right now, napping after work, and I’ve just ordered Chinese food. You’ll wake up as soon as the food gets here. Your stomach never betrays you._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 846:_

_We ran into Finn at the grocery today, and I nearly broke up with you right then and there._

_We’ve been fighting a lot lately. I don’t even know what about. Every time I speak, you snap, and every time I go to touch you, you recoil. I don’t remember the last time you replied to my, “I love you.”_

_I still don’t know what I did. I’m sorry._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 847:_

_We were sitting on the sofa watching Planet Earth, and you turned to me suddenly, pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, and rested your head on my shoulder._

_We’ll be okay._

_I love you, and you love me._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 952:_

_My lease is up. Wanna live with me?_

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 975:_

_I don’t know about you, but I’m loving life with you._

_Even though you are literally the clumsiest person known to man and break every single dish we own, have a habit of stealing the books I’m currently reading, and never make our bed when I leave early and don’t get a chance to do it— you’re alright, Princess. I think I’ll keep you._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1000:_

_You’re cute when you drool in your sleep._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1095:_

_So I’m sitting here next to you with the single greatest anniversary gift ever, and I don’t think I could be more content. You’re asleep, so thankfully you aren’t seeing me write this, but for future readings, I’m sorry about the spilled ink… Gus got ahold of the pen._

_Note to self and to you: Don’t let puppies chew things._

_Gus seems to agree. Thank you for him._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1273:_

_So Octavia’s been bugging me for a while now, because apparently she’s going to win the bet if I propose within the next year. She wants to go ring shopping to ensure that she’ll win._

_Joke’s on her— I already have the ring._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

Clarke’s breath catches. 

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1461:_

_You asked me today why I love you, and I told you that I couldn’t tell you why._

_Clarke, you started to get mad and tried to pull away just as I told you that I couldn’t tell you why because there are too many reasons. I told you that we’d be there all day if I listed every single reason why I love you. We might be there for days, weeks, months, years even. I cannot describe how much you mean to me. Just know that when I say I love you, it’s so much more than that._

_I cannot fathom what it would be like if you were not in my life. Thankfully, you’re here, and I love you. Happy fourth anniversary._

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1499:_

_Boy, I think this journal is getting a little long, don’t you?_

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1587:_

_I’ve thought about this for years now, and I think I’ve finally perfected my idea._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1617:_

_You’re going to be so mad that you didn’t see this coming. Seriously, Griffin. For the woman who is so terrifyingly good at figuring out those mystery TV shows, you really have no idea. Either that, or you’re just really good at hiding it._

_I’m betting it’s the former, though._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1765:_

_Only a few more days… I think you’ll be happy to know that none of our friends will win the bet._

_Oh, except me. Did I mention I entered it? Yeah, I bet on us WAY back when._

_I love you._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1825:_

_It’s going to be weird actually giving this to you tomorrow. After all, there’s five years’ worth of my thoughts in here, five years of my thoughts about you kept from you._

_I’m going to tell you not to read it until I bring you food (because food always makes you happy, and slightly more agreeable), but because I know you, I’ve accepted the fact that you’ve probably disregarded my request and are reading this right now. ___

_So._

_I love you. Just wanted you to know that, you know, in case you couldn’t tell._

_P.S.- I’m going to pull the blinds so “those damn birds,” don’t wake you up right away. I have some stuff to do. You know._

\- - - - - - - - -

_Day 1826:_

_I love you._

_Will you marry me?_

\- - - - - - - - -

Tears stream down her face, and Clarke hears a soft, “Oh,” come from the entryway to their bedroom. 

There Bellamy stands, holding a tray of food and looking somewhat sheepish. He sets down the tray on a nearby dresser and turns to look at her softly. His gray sweatpants hug his hips, his dark blue shirt rides up slightly, and his dark curls fall in front of his face, hiding his eyes. 

But Clarke knows Bellamy. 

She knows that although his face is composed, he’s shaking inside. She knows that every fiber in his being is screaming at him to run away, to protect himself. She knows he’s always been last in his own mind, that he always chooses to care for others before himself, and that he doesn’t think he deserves her or any of his friends and family. She knows that this journal he’s kept for her for five years is a story of his real emotions, how she really makes him feel, that some of these words are things he’ll never say aloud. She knows he’s terrified about being an uncle to Octavia’s unborn child, she knows that he talks to Gus out loud and considers him one of his best friends, she knows that he actually thinks there’s a chance that she won’t accept his proposal. 

She’s firmly okay with the rest, but what she won’t stand for is him believing in the last one. 

“Um,” Bellamy says as he approaches her and immediately her eyes are drawn to his fingers, which flex as he draws nearer. He wants to touch her.  
“I guess this is the part where I get down on one knee.” Bellamy’s smile is self-deprecating, and Clarke doesn’t think she can take any more because her heart is going to burst out of her chest. 

When he lowers himself down, she bursts into tears. 

“Clarke,” He murmurs, reaching out and tenderly wiping the tears speeding down her cheeks. “For years I’ve loved you. Some of them were spent with you as my best friend, flinging dirt into my hair and making me push you on the swings. Others were spent in a classroom, quizzing me on my Greek mythology class and me helping you make up lesson plans for your third graders. But the best couple of years of my life have been with you next to me in every way possible, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replicate those years, those feelings, and those memories without you. So, Clarke… will you… Clarke, will you marry me?” 

Bellamy doesn’t even get a chance to get the ring out of his pocket before Clarke hurls herself at him, knocking over the vase of peonies and attaching her mouth to his. 

They fall on the soft carpet, Bellamy grunting out as Clarke lands on top of him, but his arms tighten around her as she proceeds to press wet kisses onto every square inch of his face, whispering, “Yes, yes, yes, I love you, I love you,” while she does so. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The last line on the last page of the old journal is written in new curly handwriting: 

_Property of Bellamy Blake (and Clarke Griffin)._

A few hours after the proposal, Clarke grabs something out of her desk drawer-- an old sketchpad. 

She draws Bellamy's smile from memory, and titles it _Day 1._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my story! Comment and click that 'kudos' button if you like/loved/felt something. 
> 
> Also: Gus is a Scottish terrier. I just feel as though Bellarke would be the kind to have one, ya know? 
> 
> My [tumblr.](http://www.moprocrastinates.tumblr.com)


End file.
